


Is it hot in here, or is it just you?

by Merci



Category: Tekken
Genre: Crack, M/M, Yaoi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-13
Updated: 2014-09-13
Packaged: 2018-02-17 04:51:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2297195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merci/pseuds/Merci
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hwoarang isn't having much luck with his pickup lines.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Is it hot in here, or is it just you?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> **Special Thanks:** Kat! For reading this over and helping me fix up the fart joke!  
>  **Disclaimer:** I am making no profit from this fanfiction. I do not own Jin, Hwoarang, or Tekken.  
>  **Notes:** This came after an inspiring converstaion with Ani who showed me a tumblr pic with a pickup line on it. This... came from there. I hope you enjoy!

Hwoarang ran a comb through his hair before tucking it into his pocket and surveying the club once more. The night was young, but he was batting zero. The bodies throbbed and moved to the music, but Hwoarang’s expert pickup lines had failed to snag a warm bed and body for the night. Those he’d found attractive had shot him down with a laugh and a kick to his pride.

Maybe he was using the wrong lines.

No! His pickup lines were perfect! Just like his fighting moves!!

He’d tried them all. Asking a young man if he could touch him so he could tell his friends he’d touched an angel. Suggesting to a young woman that her outfit, while pretty, would look even better in a pile on his floor in the morning. Even telling someone their legs must be tired because they’d been running through his mind all day.

Nothing!

All the people who’d rejected him were losers. He just needed someone who would accept his brand of charm. He smiled and checked his reflection in a mirror before deciding he needed to try something different. He scanned the club again, this time noticing a woman alone at a table near the back of the club. She watched the crowd with a detached interest that intrigued Hwoarang. He made his way over and slid into a chair beside her. She was older by maybe ten years, a real professional, and Hwoarang decided to try one of his better lines.

“Hey,” he said, smiling widely and leaning on the table.

She turned to him, squarely looking him up and down before giving him a derisive look. “Little boys shouldn’t play with the big kids.”

Hwoarang gave her a lopsided smile. “Do you have a quarter?”

That caught her attention. She looked him up and down and smiled a bit at what she saw. “Ok, I’ll bite. What for?”

“I want to call my master and tell him I’ve met the woman of my dreams.”

That earned him a laugh. “Really? Do they even have public payphones anymore? God, how old is that line?” She looked him up and down again before laughing. “Older than you, I’ll bet. Get out of here, kid. I’ve got a club to run.” She leaned back in her seat and turned her attention to the club, surveying it with purpose.

“Shit,” Hwoarang muttered and left the booth. That had hurt worse than the others. He tried shrugging it off and turning back to the rest of the club, but his heart wasn’t in it. He just needed someone who wouldn’t reject him. He needed a place to sleep!

Another hour went by and Hwoarang had almost exhausted his repitoire of pickup lines. He’d been shot down by every man and woman in the club, including the beefy bouncer with the interesting facial tattoo. Of course, that rejection had come after he’d asked if the bouncer was a magician because _Abraca-DAYUM!_ , and he’d been promptly ejected from the club onto a pile of garbage across the street.

Hwoarang landed safely but feigned injury as the beefcake of a man turned and went back to the club. Once he was sure the coast was clear he picked himself out of the bags and rolled to his feet. “Guess I’ll have to spend another night outside,” he muttered to himself. He’d rushed into town for the Iron Fist tournament, but hadn’t made arrangements for a place to stay or food or anything. He was a fighter without a reputation to preceed him… yet!

He began to walk down the street, looking for a safe place to sleep. He’d already scouted the usual cherry places to sleep, but they were already occupied, and Hwoarang didn’t pride himself on fighting homeless people for a grate to sleep on. He’d never had trouble back home, but this was a new city in a new country and he’d never had much forethought when it came to planning things like sleeping arrangements.

Just then he noticed someone further up the street. He was leaning against a bus shelter, a blue hoodie covering his features, but Hwoarang could see there was strength under the flannel. Broad shoulders, some muscle, narrow hips…

His pulse quickened.

_”One more time,”_ he thought. He approached the man, leaning against the shelter to get a better look at him. Dark eyes, dark hair, and the bushiest eyebrows he’d ever seen. They were beautifully shaped, though, and he felt a surge of attraction for him. Lust at first sight! He looked to be about Hwoarang’s age, too, which only gave strength to his courage.

“Hey,” Hwoarang started. “I’m Hwoarang.”

The man looked startled, but didn’t back away. He looked at Hwoarang with distrustful eyes before seeming to relax and nod. “I’m… Jin.”

No immediate rejection! That was good! “Well, Jin,” Hwoarang started. “I’m no doctor, but, I think you’re suffering from a lack of vitamin… me.”

“Do I look sick?” Jin asked, turning to look at his reflection in the bus shelter.

Hwoarang’s mouth hung open as he watched his potential conquest miss the point of his line entirely. “Ah, no, you look fine. But you’re looking a little warm, there.” He drew in close to Jin and pressed his hand to his forehead. It felt fine, but he continued. “If I said you had a hot body, would you hold it against me?”

“Oh no,” Jin said with a quizzical look. “But why would I blame you for letting me know I look warm?” He held his hand to his neck and began counting his heartbeats. “Hmm, everything seems in order, but… maybe something is wrong with me. Should I go to a hospital?”

“What?” Hwoarang took a step back and looked at Jin again. Who was this kid? He looked to be the same age as him, but he was oblivious to the worst pickup lines Hwoarang had in his arsenal. “Were you raised in a convent or something?”

Jin’s mouth broke into a smile. An infectious crack across his pretty face that made Hwoarang’s defenses tremble. It was attractive. “I grew up with my mom in Yakushima,” Jin said. “And my grandfather rarely lets me leave the Mishima compound, so I don’t get out often. Sorry, are you trying to pick me up or something?”

Hwoarang froze. Why did it feel like this Jin had shone a spotlight right on him and highlighted his failures. His pickup lines were the worst! He decided to get out of there and find a cardboard box to sleep in. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d spent the night on the street.

Jin’s smile fell a little as Hwoarang backed away. “Wait!” he said, a little strongly, holding his hand out to catch Hwoarang’s arm.

Hwoarang stopped, looking up at the other man who’d shifted in his mind from someone with a warm bed to someone he actually might like. “What?”

Jin pinched the front of his shirt, pulling it out for Hwoarang to see. “Do you know what this shirt is made of?”

“What is this?” Hwoarang looked down at the dark fabric.

“Here, touch it,” Jin offered.

Hwoarang frowned slightly and reached out to touch it. It was soft, exactly as he expected a hoodie to feel. “I give up, what’s it made out of?”

Jin took Hwoarang’s hand and held it tightly. “It’s made of boyfriend material.”

Hwoarang’s knees quivered at that -- though it could have been from hunger -- and he turned back to Jin. “Did you just…?”

“Wait!” Jin held up a finger and drew close to Hwoarang. “I… think someone farted. Quick! Come with me!”

Hwoarang let himself be led away from the bus stop. Wait, was that another line?? It was new! He marveled for a second at Jin’s ability to incorporate farts with pickup lines, but then remembered himself and dug in his heels a bit and slowed their progress towards a motorcycle parked a short distance away. “Where are we going?”

“I thought we could go back to my place,” Jin said, loosening his hold on Hwoarang’s arm, but not letting go. “There’s a sale in my room.”

“A… sale?”

“Yeah, clothes are 100% off.” His dark eyes bore into Hwoarang. Waiting. Anticipating.

“Do… lines like this work for you?” Hwoarang finally asked after a long pause.

“I don’t know,” Jin shrugged, looking a little defeated. “I… just really needed… I don’t now what I was trying.”

Jin tried turning away, but Hwoarang stopped him. “Hey, your hand looks kinda heavy there.”

“Yeah?” Jin said, looking over his shoulder at him. “What are you suggesting?”

“Well, I could help you carry it back to your place.”

A heartbeat.

Hwoarang’s pride was on the line.

He didn’t know why, but if this stranger rejected him, he knew he couldn’t give up on him like the others.

Another heartbeat.

“Maybe,” Jin started. “We could rearrange the alphabet while we’re there.”

“And put U and I together?” Hwoarang started hopefully.

Jin smiled.

Hwoarang felt his face go hot.

“I’d like that,” Jin said and tugged Hwoarang along to his bike.

Hwoarang got on behind Jin and wrapped his arms around his waist, before something clicked in his mind. “Wait, did you say your grandfather is Mishima? As in Heihachi???”

Jin’s motorcycle roared to life, blotting out his protests as Jin sped off towards home with an apprehensive Hwoarang muttering against his back.

At least Hwoarang had found a place to crash.

And his clothes would look amazing crumpled on Jin’s floor in the morning.


End file.
